


Between Breaths

by nectarimperial



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:38:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nectarimperial/pseuds/nectarimperial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Did you run over here?” Kenma asks.</p><p>“What was I supposed to do?” Kuroo smirks, “Walk?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Breaths

**Author's Note:**

> a friend of mine made me watch the anime then i read the manga in like a day and now i'm in volleyball hell, oops. 
> 
> i'm hoping it's okay! this is my first time writing for haikyuu, so hopefully i can improve!

There’s something primal behind Kuroo’s gaze when he opens the door to Kenma’s bedroom. It isn’t the mischievous glint in his eyes, or the smug smirk on his lips, and it isn’t the way his black bangs feather over one side of his face, casting shadows across his brow. It’s something else, something Kenma can’t read, and if he hadn’t looked up from his game the second Kuroo walked in the door, he’s sure he would’ve missed it. 

But now he’s seen it, and he can’t seem to look away. He can’t take his eyes off of Kuroo’s, clouded with an emotion Kenma can’t decipher, even as he hears the final boss destroy his avatar and the ‘game over’ music softly play over the speakers. But he doesn’t really want to look away, because he’s never seen Kuroo like this, and it makes his stomach drop and his throat tighten just a little and all he can think to do is to stare. 

Kuroo’s leaning against the doorframe, shoulder pressed against the wood, with that devilish grin across his face. His black tank top is stretched tight over the expanse of his chest, jeans low-slung around his hips, skin dewy from the summer’s humidity, and if he wasn’t aroused earlier, he certainly is now and Kenma inhales sharply, crossing his legs underneath him. 

 _‘Did he run here?_ ’ Kenma wonders to himself. They’d been flirting over text—well, Kuroo had been flirting, Kenma just giving his usual short replies—but something had felt a little different. Where Kenma would normally shrug off Kuroo’s more suggestive remarks, he’d somehow found himself entertaining the other’s flirtations when things had turned more heated.

In fact, Kenma’s phone was still sitting open by his feet, **_Come over—no one’s home._** still flashing in the text window. Kuroo’s reply underneath. 

_it’s almost midnight._

**_I’m ready_ **

Kuroo hadn’t said anything after that, which had made Kenma a little nervous, at first, even if part of him had expected Kuroo to show up at his door.

Still, though, he hadn’t expected him to show up _this_ fast, and Kenma’s thankful he opened the window earlier, soft summer breeze cooling the flush spreading across his cheeks and swallows thickly, a soft, “Hey,” escaping from his lips.

But Kuroo doesn’t say anything immediately, just pushes himself off the wall, kicking the door closed behind him, and with the light from the hallway gone, the only things illuminating the room are the streetlights and his video game system, lying forgotten on the comforter. Making his way to the other side of the bedroom, Kuroo stands at the edge of Kenma’s bed, reaching a hand up to run through his blond dyed hair.  
  
“Hey,” Kuroo replies, voice deep, and even at a time like this his presence holds an air of authority, his role as Nekoma’s captain following him like the shadow of a stray cat, and he drops his hand at his side. He doesn’t have to say anything else, because Kenma can feel the tension, the desire hanging silent between them like it always did, and he can calculate Kuroo’s next move—even if he still can’t read the look on Kuroo’s face—just before he leans over to catch Kenma’s lips in his own.  
  
It’s different. They’ve kissed before and they’ll kiss again and if it were up to Kenma, he’d kiss Kuroo until the world fell apart around them because kissing Kuroo was like coming home, but this time it’s different. It isn’t soft or slow, full of teenage apprehension, it’s feverish and it’s full of teeth and tongue and Kenma never knew how much he’d wanted Kuroo like this. How much he wanted Kuroo to shove his shoulders against the bed and climb on top of him, pinning him underneath his weight like Kenma were his prey. 

Wrapping his arms against Kuroo’s broad shoulders, he doesn’t have time to react when Kuroo’s pulling away, dragging his teeth down his jawbone and along his throat, biting and tearing at the skin, and Kenma looks up at the ceiling, fingers wrapping in the material of Kuroo’s shirt.  
  
“I want you,” Kuroo breathes, pulling away for only a second, calloused hands running up under the hem of Kenma’s t-shirt, settling around his waist, and crashes his mouth against Kenma’s again, tongue trailing along his lower lip.  
  
Kenma knows his parents are away on business, and doesn’t hesitate for a moment in whispering, “I want you, too,” against Kuroo’s lips, and it makes Kuroo groan heavily, rolling his hips against Kenma’s before pulling himself upright, sitting back, tugging his tank top off over his head.

Kenma’s used to seeing Kuroo shirtless, he had seen it a hundred times, but not like this, and his breath hitches in his throat as he moves to sit up on his forearms, unsure of what to do next. There’s no strategy, no plan, and all Kenma can do is trust in his own feelings and the present moment as he watches Kuroo finish undressing, his cock already half-hard and glistening right before his eyes.

Bending over, Kuroo throws off Kenma’s shirt and pulls his pants down his legs, discarding them in a haphazard heap in the corner of the room and says. “Get on your knees,” he coaxes, and Kenma doesn’t hesitate to listen, not because of Kuroo’s tone or his control over the situation, but because he trusts Kuroo, and slides off the bed.

He doesn’t need to be told what to do and wraps his lips around Kuroo’s cock, sliding it to the back of his throat, and the taste of his precum is sweet and everything, _everything_ he remembers it being. Kenma’s done this before too, but he still thinks about it over and over, wondering when the next time he’d be able to taste Kuroo like this.

He brings one hand up, reaching to grasp the base of Kuroo’s shaft, the other hanging on to Kuroo’s hip, keeping him steady between his legs. He used to wonder if their height difference would be a problem, but the angle is just right, and he’s able to take Kuroo deeper than he thought he could kneeling on the floor between his legs.

It’s never quite what Kenma expects it to be, his own inexperience still causing him to sporadically cough or gag sometimes even though he’d taken Kuroo like this before, but he keeps focus. Practice makes perfect. After all, he rationalizes, it’s always nothing more than a game, a test of his skill—a test to see how fast he can make Kuroo cum, and Kenma can’t help but suppress a grin at that thought, running his tongue along the underside of Kuroo’s cock.

He knows that he’s going to win this round. 

Kuroo’s hands are in Kenma’s hair, tight around his roots, tugging and jerking, trying to get deeper, but Kenma isn’t listening, focused on his goal, and swirls his tongue around the head of Kuroo’s shaft. “I always enjoy this,” he says, looking up to meet Kuroo’s eyes, running a hand up and down his length, balancing his actions.

“Fuck,” Kuroo’s whispering above him, doubling over, hands slipping from Kenma’s hair, using his shoulders for support, and thrusts his hips forward unexpectedly, driving into the back of Kenma’s throat over and over, and Kenma loves seeing how much Kuroo’s relinquished control, frantic and desperate.  
  
Looking up, Kenma meets Kuroo’s gaze, mouth full of his cock and purrs, “Don’t finish _too_ quick, I don’t think I’m done,” and he thinks his words send Kuroo over the edge, because he’s pulling out and throwing Kenma over the edge of the bed, peppering frantic kisses on his cheeks and neck and shoulders, sliding his hands over the curves of his torso, pressing his full erection into the back of his thigh.  
  
“I don’t think I am, either,” Kuroo hums in his ear and it sends a shiver down Kenma’s spine. His cheek is pressed into the comforter, waiting for Kuroo to decide what he wanted, and while he had enjoyed watching Kuroo’s frenzied reactions, he’s grateful his momentary position of power hadn’t lasted long—he still doesn’t really know what he’s doing, even if they’ve fooled around before, his actions always fueled entirely by his instinct and desire where he was lacking in experience.

Kuroo moves away and for a few moments, Kenma suddenly feels anxious. He shouldn’t be—this is Kuroo, after all, who’s always been there for him and always will be. He doesn’t have long to worry because in that moment, without warning, he feels Kuroo’s hands around his hips and his breath against his skin and the gentle curve of his tongue pressing against his tight entrance, dipping, tasting, reminding Kenma that he doesn’t need to be nervous.  
  
But Kuroo’s always been good at easing his fears.  
  
Wrapping his fingers in the sheets, Kenma tries to stay focused enough to keep his knees from buckling, pleasure surging through his body, his own cock hard and wet, pressing into the mattress, and the friction feels far too good, better than he would have ever thought possible.  
  
“And I always enjoy this,” Kuroo says breathlessly, pulling away, replacing his tongue with slicked fingers, tossing the bottle of lube on the pillows, and Kenma doesn’t know how many he’s managed to fit inside him already, but he knows it isn’t enough because his entire being aches for Kuroo, for all of Kuroo, filling him up like they belonged together.

Because they do belong together, they always had and they always would. At least, that’s what Kuroo had told him once—the summer before Kenma entered high school, on a night that felt much like this one, sitting in the darkness of Kenma’s bedroom. _I won’t give up on you_ , Kuroo’s eyes had said as he leaned over and kissed Kenma underneath the streetlamp pouring in between the open curtains. And even if Kenma may not have believed it then, he knows he believes it now. _I won’t give up on you_.

“Are you okay?” Kuroo asks, hesitation tracing each word. Kenma doesn’t say anything, arching his back into Kuroo’s touch, doesn’t need to, because Kuroo can read him like no one else can. He’d always been able to decipher Kenma’s body language and measure his reactions like he were a long-favorite paperback, and all Kuroo does is give a low chuckle deep in his throat.

Before he has any time to react, Kuroo’s positioning his cock at his entrance, pushing past the tight ring of muscle, and Kenma practically shivers with his own desire. He wanted Kuroo, needed Kuroo deep inside of him, and couldn’t bear the thought of waiting any longer. He’d made himself wait long enough, always hesitating that he wasn’t ready, whispering _soon, soon_ in Kuroo’s ear late at night, bodies fully clothed and tangled around each other, hands wandering, exploring places that would surely make him blush in the morning.  
  
But now Kenma can’t even remember why he’d been so nervous. It burns, it stings, it feels like he’s being ripped in half, but it’s everything he ever wanted. He’d finally given Kuroo the last of his youthful innocence, and the only thing left to do is to trust Kuroo. 

Wrapping his hands around Kenma’s hips, Kuroo digs his nails into his hipbones and doesn’t wait any longer before thrusting inside of him. He lets Kenma adjust for a moment before setting a quick, chaotic pace, using Kenma’s body to drive himself deeper and deeper until all he knew was the feeling of Kuroo moving inside of him, and as much as Kenma tries to keep quiet, he can’t seems hold back his desperate, throaty cries for pleasure, burying his face on his arms in an attempt to stifle himself.  
  
“Don’t be quiet,” Kuroo groans, moving one hand to claw down Kenma’s back in a long sweep, his nails surprisingly sharp, “Let me hear you.”

Kenma nods breathlessly, flush spreading across his cheeks as his cries reverberate against the walls of his sparsely decorated room. It isn’t like him to be this loud, but he can’t even begin to feel ashamed, gasping Kuroo’s name over and over until his voice gives out and he can hardly breathe, desire swallowing him whole because this is everything he’d wanted.

Kenma had wanted this for so long, longer than he might admit, but had been so reluctant to indulge because he’d been terrified of someone knowing him completely and fully. He’d never been great with people and the thought of being _so_ honest and open scared him. So he suppressed his desires, suppressed his feelings, suppressed what he wanted for the sake of seeing Kuroo’s smirk another day.  
  
And now, he realizes how irrational he’d been, how naïve and thoughtless he’d been, because it’s _Kuroo_. Kuroo, his dearest friend from childhood, the one person in the world that would never give up on him, no matter the circumstance. And for the first time, Kenma finds himself believing it, too. Believing in those words Kuroo had told him a year ago, and before he can stop himself he’s crying, “I want you, I need you. Don’t ever let go.”  
  
It’s an honesty that Kenma would never admit were he not bent over the side of the bed, face buried in his comforter as Kuroo leans over him, holding his wrists in his hands, thrusting into him hard and fast, carrying the full weight of his own emotion. Kuroo buries his face in the side of Kenma’s neck and whispers, “I won’t, I wont,” over and over.  
  
Kenma doesn’t think that he’ll last much longer between the feeling of his cock pressed between his stomach and the bed and the wonderful way Kuroo moves inside of him, like he belonged there. Like they were made to compliment each other.  
  
“Shit, I’m—“ Kuroo moans in Kenma’s ear and kisses the side of cheek, his neck, and shoulder feverishly until Kenma can feel Kuroo’s release. Kenma isn’t too far behind him, and as soon as Kuroo reaches a hand between Kenma’s thighs, he’s cumming too, staining the sheets with their shared passions.

Kuroo rests over his back for a few minutes, chest rising and falling as he tries to regulate his labored breaths until he finally rolls off him, staring up at the ceiling. Kenma doesn’t know what to do, so he does the only thing he can think of and starts to laugh in his stupid post-coital haze, body sticky and glistening with sweat.  
  
“Aw c’mon, I wasn’t that bad,” Kuroo mutters, throwing an arm over his shoulder, his black hair sticking up in more odd angles than usual, but Kenma doesn’t stop laughing, curling on his side, bringing his knees up to his chest. “Don’t laugh,” Kuroo adds.  
  
“Did you run over here?” Kenma asks and pushes some of his blond hair from his eyes, reaching over to grab the phone behind his back. He had a few new messages—one from Hinata flashed in the header—but he didn’t feel like checking them now and idly scrolls through his Twitter feed.  
  
“What was I supposed to do?” Kuroo smirks, “ _Walk?_ ” 

“Uh-huh,” Kenma replies, scooting just a little closer and Kuroo closes the distance between them, tugging Kenma into his chest. He can hear Kuroo’s heartbeat and the other’s fingers idly massaging his scalp, and blurts the first thing on the forefront of his mind, “I won’t give up on you, either.”  
  
“I know,” Kuroo says, and leans over to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! you can always find me at nectar-imperial.tumblr.com or at twitter nectarimperial_ !! thanks again ;v;


End file.
